Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen - Dyan Sheldon [23]
My curiosity was greater than my disdain for anything Carla Santini might have to say. I leaned back in my seat just a tiny bit. Was she going to say that Sidartha wasn’t disbanding after all?
When not even Alma hazarded a guess, Carla took a deep, meaningful breath. “They’re going to have a big farewell concert at Madison Square Garden to say goodbye to all their friends and fans.” If anyone else in the universe had made that announcement, she would have sounded excited; Carla sounded as though it had been her idea.
Alma, Tina and Marcia all started to sigh and screech, but Carla wasn’t finished yet.
“And guess what else?” she demanded.
I swear to God that the three of them gasped. “What?”
“My father already has seats in the press box.”
Alma, Tina and Marcia all went off like smoke alarms, but I didn’t blink. So this was Carla’s revenge. She didn’t even like Sidartha that much. She just wanted to get even with me.
“But that’s not the best part,” said Carla once the noise had died down. “There’s going to be an absolutely mega party afterwards for all their closest friends.” If I’d had a pair of scissors on me, I think I would have turned around and cut off her hair. “And guess who already has an invitation?”
I don’t know why I did it. I really and truly don’t. It wasn’t like I planned it or anything. But the smug triumph in Carla Santini’s voice really annoyed me.
I turned my head so that I was officially part of the conversation.
“It just so happens that Ella and I do,” I said sweetly.
Carla Santini’s eyes locked with mine.
“Oh, really?” Smug triumph now had a companion: sarcasm. Carla didn’t believe me. Which meant that no one else did either.
I, however, was cool and unruffled; I was self-possessed. Ignoring the horrified expression on Ella’s face, I met Carla’s eyes.
“Yeah,” I said. “Really.”
There were a few darting glances and smirks around the table. Carla caught them all. A smile slipped over her face like a snake through water.
“And just how did you manage that?” she asked.
“The same way you did,” I immediately answered. “Through parental connections.”
“Connections?” Carla made a sound that would have been a snort if a pig and not a perfect person were making it. “What connections do you have, except to the phone?”
To be a truly great thespian you have to be able to do more than act from a script. You have to be able to improvise. I improvised.
“My mother got them. Marsh Foreman bought a piece from her in the summer. I met him when he came to pick it up. He remembered that I liked Sidartha, so he gave my mother two invitations.”
This wasn’t technically true, of course, but it was definitely possible. Marsh Foreman was Sidartha’s manager. It stood to reason that he had money to spend on handcrafted goods. Lots of rich people bought my mother’s stuff. Why shouldn’t Marsh Foreman be one of them?
Carla arched one eyebrow. “Your mother must be some potter.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “She is.” I laughed as if suddenly understanding something – something too silly for words. “Oh, you think she makes bowls and plates and stuff like that…” Bowls and plates and stuff like that are what my mother does make, but there are lots of other potters who aren’t obsessed with use and function. “Oh, no, my mother makes things like six-foot fish in suits. In fact, the piece that Marsh Foreman bought was a badger, a racoon and a fox playing Monopoly.” I smiled. “He put it in his garden.”
ME AND MY BIG MOUTH
Carla’s announcement lifted my soul to the heavens themselves. All was not lost, after all. Sidartha was having one last concert! Now Ella and I had the chance to see them at their very very best in a concert that would be part of the rock legend for centuries to come. Decades from now, Ella and I would be telling our grandchildren how we were at Sidartha’s farewell gig – how we’d even gone to the party afterwards and met Stu Wolff.
Ella, however, had a slightly different take on things.
“I really can’t believe you sometimes, Lola,” said Ella. She dumped a bag of crisps